Conversion

I aspire to be Molly Wizenberg. In fact, reading her blog Orangette was the final burst of inspiration that led me to create my own food blog, and I feel a certain virtual resonance with her writing (plus, we are both students of social science living in the Pacific Northwest). I can certainly relate to her stories of unexplained and sudden tours de force of baking, and though I still count myself among the ranks of vegetarians in this world, I appreciate her loving descriptions of meat and seafood all the same. And what's more, she may have just made a convert out of me yet.

I'm not talking about rushing out to the nearest butcher and snatching up a pork loin to sear or a salmon to grill. No, I am referring to something much more basic, much less carnivorous: scrambled eggs. Since I have slipped back into the world of egg-and-dairy consumption, I have been a staunch and unyielding supporter of the simple, pure, and heavenly fried egg, over-easy or sunny side up. With the exception of my marathon of bagel-eating this week, I have eaten a fried egg with sea salt and cracked pepper every single morning this summer. I started buying eggs from a woman at the farmers' market in late June and have been a loyal customer ever since. Admittedly, I was a little unsure of what to do when I cracked that first egg into my skillet, watching the edges bubble slightly in olive oil and firm up ever so slowly. I was nervous for the first flip, fearing I would completely destroy the bright orange yolk and be forced to watch it spill its contents into the pan in a chaotic mess of eggy destruction.

Not to fear, however. After cautiously and successfully conquering the flip, I slid my egg out of the pan onto a bed of steel cut oats, cooked in almond milk and generously adorned with sea salt and pepper. A deep breath, and then the moment of truth. I pushed my fork into the yolk, which met me first with a little resistance, and then ruptured, yielding a perfect gush of sunset orange running throughout the hearty, salty oats. From that moment on, I could not conceive of eating my eggs any other way but fried. I admit that somewhere along the line I made the switch from steel cut oats to toasted slices of Dave's Killer Powerseed bread, a hearty wheat bread covered with sesame, sunflower, flax, and poppy seeds from a local Portland company. But the egg remained constant, and each morning I relished in breaking that yolk and watching it mix with the sea salt and pepper, its faithful companions.

Loving as I do the pure, simple pleasure of the fried egg, I never really understood why anyone would choose to eat one scrambled. Scrambled? How could you take in the brilliant contrast between textures and flavors that make a white a white and a yolk a yolk? Scrambled eggs always seemed so messy, so heavy, so confused. Perhaps I was just traumatized from two years of seeing huge metal trays of pale yellow scrambled "eggs" in the dining hall (made from liquid egg product--ew!) that I could in no way make the connection between "scrambled eggs" and "appetizing." But then, I found Molly Wizenberg.

I read one month's worth of posts on Orangette each day, and a post from March 2005 bestowed upon me the treasure of a recipe for a French-style open faced sandwich with leeks and soft scrambled eggs. I was intrigued. When I opened my CSA box on Wednesday and saw those lovely green and white leeks staring up at me, I knew what I had to do. Casting all doubts aside, this morning I took the plunge and dove headfirst into the world of scrambled eggs. And oh, how glad I am to have done so.

I cut up the leeks into thin little rounds and dropped them into my cast-iron pan to caramelize in some butter and the slightest bit of sugar. Then, cracking two of the Raynblest farms eggs into a bowl with some melted butter and a little water, I took my whisk and with only the slightest twinge of anxiety, broke the yolks and swiftly mixed them together with the whites. I poured the eggs into a saucepan, whisking them continuously as they slowly started to thicken and take on the appearance of a bowl of oatmeal. Taking them off the heat shortly thereafter, I spooned them on top of the last of my bagels from the Portland Bagel Company--this one a seedy multigrain, toasted to golden-brown. I stirred the leeks with what remained of my cream cheese, also from PBC, and slid them out of the pan onto the heaping pile of eggs. Never forgetting the requisite sea salt and pepper, I sat down at my kitchen table with an open mind and an empty stomach and took my first bite.

These were no ordinary scrambled eggs. The eggs themselves were delicate and airy, with a wonderfully consistent and soft texture. Nothing sloppy or heavy about them. The leeks were mild and sweet, with the cream cheese adding the slightest bit of tanginess. And the bagel was crisp and sturdy as it cradled the more tender eggs and leeks in their voyage from plate to mouth. If this is what scrambled eggs can be, then I take back all previous disregard for their place at the breakfast table. I certainly could never turn my back on my love for the fried egg, but I think I have found a way to welcome scrambled eggs into my life on those rare occasions that I break from my routine.

SOFT SCRAMBLED EGGS WITH CARAMELIZED LEEKS

Adapted from Orangette

For the leeks:

2-3 small leeks

1 tbsp butter

1 tsp sugar

A pinch of salt

1 tbsp cream cheese

For the eggs:

2 large eggs (here's my plug for finding local, cruelty-free eggs--they taste better anyway)

2 tsp water

1/8 tsp salt

1 tsp butter, melted

For serving:

A multi-grain bagel, toasted (the original recipe suggests bias-cut slices of baguette, which would also be delicious)

Sea salt

Fresh cracked pepper

Begin by preparing the leeks: trim the root end off each leek, and slice them across their width into roughly ¼-inch-thick coins. Place the cut-up leeks in the basket insert of a salad spinner, place the basket in the bowl of the spinner, and fill the bowl with cold water. Let the leeks sit for a few minutes in the water; then use your hand to swish them around, loosening and removing any dirt that may be hidden in their layers. Remove the basket from the bowl, dump the water out of the bowl, return the basket to the bowl, and spin the leeks dry. [Alternately, if you don’t have a salad spinner, simply soak and wash the leeks in a bowl of water, and dry them with paper towels.]

In a large skillet, melt the butter over medium-low heat. Add the leeks, the sugar, and the salt, and stir to mix. Cover the skillet to allow the leeks to begin to sweat a bit, and, stirring occasionally and adjusting the heat as necessary if they begin to cook too quickly, allow the leeks to cook for about 15 minutes, until they are fragrant, soft, and almost melting. Add the cream cheese, and cook the leeks a minute or two more, stirring in the cream cheese as it melts. Set the skillet aside.

In a small bowl, whisk together the eggs, water, salt, and melted butter. Pour this mixture into a small saucepan, and place it over low heat, whisking constantly. When the mixture begins to coagulate ever so slightly and form tiny oatmeal-like lumps, begin a little dance of removing the pot from the heat and replacing it so that the eggs don’t cook too quickly, and reach all over the corners and bottom of the pot with your whisk. The eggs are ready when they resemble loose oatmeal; the process should take between 5 and 9 minutes.

Place the toasted bagel (or baguette slices) on a plate, and spoon the scrambled eggs on top of them. Top the eggs with a layer of leeks. Serve immediately, with salt and pepper as needed.

Serves one.